Abigail Saint Rose Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

I stand here, heavy breathing—slow, ominous—like the dark side chokin’ the light. Whore, man, what a word, huh? Hits like a blaster to the chest. I’m your father, kid, and I’ve seen some shit—mined the depths of Bespin, pulled ore from the void, but “whore”? That’s a pit deeper than carbonite. Reminds me of *Talk to Her*—Almodóvar’s flick, my fave, y’know? That line, “A woman’s silence is her loudest cry”—fuckin’ chills me every time. Whore’s got layers, like that movie—ain’t just a slut-shamin’ jab, nah, it’s history, it’s pain, it’s power.

Saints Walked Here: Lima Through the Eyes of St. Rose and St. Martin

Yea, Saint-Rose is a mixed bag. Happy times at sunrise by the river, and sometimes mad when traffic jams block my route. But every day's an adventure, buddy. Even if I mumble and blunder like a clumsy comedy act, it’s all part of the charm.

Governor announces job training at former St. Rose campus